On Santa's Sleigh,
by Avindara Nirvene
Summary: there's a collection of oneshots by An : Merry Christmas, everyone!
1. of diminished hope and forgotten musings

of diminished **hope** and forgotten _musings_

(a sirius story)

He wonders if he is insane.

Four days into Azkaban, and his tanned skin has already waned to a sickly white; the prisoner robes, once slightly taut around his body, now hang loose, as if he was wearing a giant's size in width; and laughter has vanished from his face, his shoulders, everywhere.

Bartemius Crouch had visited him twice during the first two days, both times to sneer in his face, apparently proud of this catch. He tried to press his face into the cell, between the bars, but the wide, squat shape of his head didn't let him. That didn't discourage him from coming toward the bars, however. Sirius could pick out every detail of his face from the graying hair to his mouth, curled up in a perfectly-shaped sneer. He could see Bartemius's eyes – hard, like blue-green sapphires, glinting in the little light there was, and their very presence made Sirius shiver slightly. He knew Barty is not a Death Eater, yet his acts could have made him one, a very good one at that.

"I bet you thought you'd sneak away from that crime, eh, Black?" he simpered. "But I caught you, I caught you, didn't I? Along with your loser of a cousin." Sirius tensed, thinking of dear Andromeda, who is married to a Muggleborn, Ted Tonks. She wouldn't be in any trouble, would she?

Crouch, watching Sirius's shoulders tense, laughed, thinking he'd touched a nerve. "Don't worry, dear Bella and her troupe will be out soon. You, unfortunately, won't!" He cackled, and continued on his way, leaving Sirius to roll his eyes. Bellatrix. He should have known she was going to try and seek out the Dark Lord, but never thought she'd do something bad enough to get into Azkaban. Okay, maybe not, but he'd never actually think she would get caught. Top in everything she did at Hogwarts, about three quarters of her year's trophies belonged to her. She had slipped away from many crimes, including the murders of Marlene McKinnon and her family, Fabian and Gideon Prewett, Benjy Fenwick, and no more than twenty-four unfortunate Muggles.

The first day was pure torment. After being thrown head-first onto the cold, uneven cement floor, he had several bruises and cuts. Smelling a new captive, the dementors had feasted very happily on his emotions – taking away his happiness for Lily and James. It slipped away into the repulsing creature's hood, as the dementor touched him with a pale, long-fingered bony array of a hand, sending shoots of ice and indifference through him. He tried to pull it back, tried to conjure up a Patronus without a wand, but never did his attempts succeed. He explored the cell, stumbling upon the magically-conjured, invisible bars, a dent in the cement where food was distributed, another for water, and a hole for urinary waste. He crawled into the opening for warmth, thinking how utterly repulsive it was. It took him three hours to fall asleep, as he was not yet used to the cold and hardness of the floor. After all, even though he didn't quite agree with his parents, they still had given him a high-class bed – goose feather pillows and the best unicorn-hide sheets ever made. The contrast is vast, and his head is numb from the cold.

The second day, his happiness for the birth of Harry and the godfather title faded, as easily as it would be to slide a bar of soap across a slick marble floor. He resigned himself to all the attacks of soul-sucking, and the dementors dined hungrily and freely upon his soul. More and more of them came to visit this convict – after all, Sirius was a Gryffindor, and according to Slytherins (and everyone else, but they'd say it much more nicely), Gryffindors displayed their hearts out on their sleeves, for all to see. He continued to rest in the urinal opening, it is slightly warmer than the rest of the floor.

Day three, and all his happiness had gone – he no longer remembered his friends, only their names. He repeated them over and over again, so he wouldn't forget. "Moony…Prongs…Moony…Prongs…" he left out one, not knowing why. "Moony… Prongs… Moon… Prong… Moon… Prong."

The fourth day comes now. "Moon… Pond… Moon… Pond." He repeats quietly to himself, and smiles, proud that he still remembers something from his life, if not a lot. A dementor, sensing action as it passed, swoops upon him.

The little hope he has left flickers and dies.

* * *

Merry Christmas, **Huffie**:) 

And please review, it makes my day!

(thank you Grey for beta-ing, and thank you Cupid for the title-format idea!)


	2. to break free

_to break** free**._

(an andromeda story)

She was born on a summer day. July 21, 1953.

Her mother says she was crying because the light stung her eyes that fine day.

_She never told her mother how much that hurt her._

Instead, when her mother repeats this story, she listens and puts on a false smile.

_She should have known all Blacks were false._

Her mother repeats it constantly.

_She never shows her pain._

Druella also continues with the births of her elder sister Bellatrix, how that night was deathly cold, but she and Bella were strong. December 2, 1951. Bellatrix, her first child, the one inheriting the Blacks' beauty – beautiful black hair, thick and straight, stunning black eyes, glowing with an unblemished sparkle, and the elegant, willful aura about her. Druella speaks of Bellatrix's birth with a haughty air, unlike Andromeda's – in which she uses a slightly more disdainful tone.

_That hurt even more._

Then she continues with Narcissa's. Delicate Cissy was born during autumn. November 1, 1955. During the harvest season. While the maple leaves blushed red. Druella speaks of this birth as hard, as fragile Cissy almost didn't make it. Youngest child Narcissa Black was blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and picture-perfect.

_Narcissa was treasured, like a jewel._

Their mother speaks of this, and there is always a glimmer of hope in her hard **grey** eyes, the ones that have seen so much, but thinks so little of it.

Andromeda also thinks she notices a glint of a tear, a slight quaver in tone, probably from the thought of losing dear, fragile Cissy.

_But Blacks never cry._

They stay strong, for their reputation.

_Crying is a symbol of weakness, they say._

So Andromeda would never admit seeing the tears gather themselves in her mother's almond-shaped, grey eyes Andromeda herself had inherited.

Druella herself wouldn't disclose her tears either. She pretended no fears.

_Blacks are __**strong**_

They sit primly in high-class rosewood chairs on high-class scarlet cushions, drink from high-class delicate teacups, sip high-class rose tea, with a high-class perfectly-shaped pale pinkies rising to a perfect degree.

_Never shed a tear._

It was another one of those Black rules, the ones never spoken aloud but all Blacks (and perhaps even others) knew by heart. Except for Sirius, but her naughty little cousin was a different story. But she knew them.

_She knew the laws, and followed them unwillingly._

She was a coward, yes, but a logical one.

_She couldn't break free._

One day she would.

* * *

Merry Christmas, **Grey**!

(one thing: this may be reposted, after I get it beta'd again - but for now - well, I couldn't resist the temptation to post it xP)

And reviews are muchly appreciated : so you should give one.


	3. graveyard of memories

**Graveyard **of _Memories_

(a regulus story)

It all haunts him.

Carefully, as quietly as he can, he makes his way into the room. The door creaks slightly, and he glances at it.

_Do Not Enter_

_Without the Express Permission of_

_Regulus Arcturus Black_

With one quivering hand and all the strength he can muster, he swipes at it. Instead of taking down the sign, several scratch marks find their way onto the exquisite Black-crested design of the door.

(How much longer would it haunt him?)

The green and silver emblem of Slytherin is everywhere – about the bed, walls, windows, everything.

(He longs to tear them down, but no longer has the energy.)

He notices the newspaper clippings of Voldemort, all stuck together to make a ragged collage. He sees the picture of him and his teammates with the Quidditch cup.

(How long ago was that?)

(A mere week or so.)

Yet he feels as if that was another century, another person.

He stares at the banner dangling over the bed (_Toujours Pur) _and charges blindly toward it, determined to seize it, and rip it, rip it to shreds…

Yet he is weak - not a Gryffindor but a Slytherin.

(He wasn't strong enough, unlike his brother.)

He falls onto the bed, and lies there for a while, not able to get up, get up and face his future.

(He no longer has a future.)

The way forward is clear.

* * *

Merry Christmas, **Bonnie!** :) 

and thank you **Rabbi and Sharkie** for beta-ing

Reviews are greatly appreciated -nudges at lavender button-


	4. first&last of stars

_first_&_last_ of **stars**

(an ariana story)

She is thirteen when she draws her first star.

It is a pretty star, a little crooked on one side, and she accidentally smears the purple ink with her white nightgown (the stains show on the sleeve) but she thinks it looks pretty nice.

She shows it to her mother while she is buckling up Ariana's shoes.

"It's beautiful, Ariana," her mother smiles wearily, but it is a sad smile; she then turns away, walking over to the fireplace to stoke the fire – a job Ariana knows her mother could, and would usually, do by magic. She is simply unable to face her daughter.

(Ariana wonders why.)

xx

She presents it to her brother Abe. He is in the fields, kneeling with the goats.

"Hello, little sister." He beams up at her, shading his brilliant blue eyes from the scorching rays of the sun. She holds the ragged piece of parchment to him. "What's this? A star?" She nods happily. "It's beautiful, Ari, just beautiful."

"Beautiful," she repeats. "It's beautiful."

"Yes, it is," Abe smiles, "Now, why don't you help bring Sandi home? She's got a sore hoof." He hands her the end of the rope, and Ariana obediently leads the little goat back to the barn.

xx

She has tea with Ms. Bathilda Bagshot every Saturday, at four. Ariana thinks Mrs. Bagshot's place is a bit dingy and bat-like, but she obediently goes every weekend, just as her mother says.

"What have you been up to lately, darling?" Mrs. Bagshot puts down her dainty cup of tea. Ariana studies the teacup. It is exquisite – little angels with tiny rosaries on their white gowns (looked like her nightgown, but she didn't say) are holding hands, evidently singing.

She takes out the bit of parchment with the star and passes it to the nice, batty lady. It is beginning to fade to a light lavender colour now.

She listens to Bathilda's praise: "Why, it's beautiful, dear! Your very first?"

Ariana nods. Bathilda beams, "Ah, yes. I remember little Brea's first as well, it was very nice-looking as well, it's pity you never met her."

Ariana listens to the nice old lady drone on and on about her deceased daughter. Before she knew it, she dozes off.

xx

It is Kendra's funeral, and Albus is crying.

Ariana cannot understand why her sweet, saintly mother is being lowered into the ground.

She had pushed forward to touch her mother's pale, pale cheek, and Aberforth had restrained her.

Now she is sitting next to her older brother Al, who is listening to a boring old man talk on and on, and crying.

Ariana knows what tears are. They happen when something bad occurs – when she is tormented by boys, when her daddy disappears, when her cat falls asleep and never gets up again.

It hits her. Maybe that's what happened to her beautiful mother.

From up here, Kendra looks peaceful, elegant. Her hair falls in soft black tendrils about a pale face. Her hands are circling a bouquet of roses – her favourite flower- and she is draped in silk blue dress robes the brothers found in her closet. The lips are slightly curved, as she is trying hard to not smile at a ridiculous joke Abe has cracked, and she looks as if she is closing her eyes and imagining things.

(Ariana wonders what she is imagining now.)

Albus is crying harder. Tears are dripping down his long nose – his auburn bangs are wet now. Ariana sneaks the paper into her hand, and clasps Al's quivering fingers. He feels the parchment tickle his palm, and lifts it of curiosity. Squinting through his tears, he realises that it is a shaky drawing of a star. Suddenly angered, he throws the paper to the ground, and storms out.

Later, Ariana stoops down to pick it up, and goes back to her seat.

The wet grass has stained the parchment to a sickly green.

(If Kendra was here , she could change it back to white)

xx

A month after her mother's death, she displays it to the merry-faced boy who often comes to see Albus. He is at his desk.

She walks up to him, just as he looks up from the many papers on his desk. He nods at her, "Ariana." She offers the bit of parchment to him. He accepts it, holding it out in his open palm, put on his eye-glasses, and squinting profusely at its faint shape. "Why, it's a star, Ariana."

She nods, smiling.

(He understands.)

xx

Ariana stands at the edge of the rivulet, gazing at the sparkling waters and colourful pebbles beneath. Twinkling stars reflects upon the stream – Ariana stares at it for a moment, before realising one is missing.

Carefully, she slips the paper from white nightgown and onto the palm of her hand. Puckering up her lips, she blows – and the paper flutters toward the cool waters of the brook.

(It never does reach there.)

A gust of wind propels it upward, and up into the midnight sky it soars – a colourful green-white scrap of parchment, a lavender star sketched upon it, like an emerald among many crystals on a silk blue cloth.

(She reaches it the next day.)

* * *

Merry Christmas, **Love**:) 

and thank you Cuba for beta-ing.

haha, I had to try three times in order to underline "ariana", because I kept pressing the wrong button.. thrice. (and it was the same button) -feels stupid XD-

anyway, as you can see, I'm taking a break from all the Black Christmas Presents :)

Next coming up - Sharkie's Happy Siri XDD

And reviews are highly appreciated, so please do take the time to write a little something:)


	5. tearshed&blooddrops

_tearshed_&**blood**_drops_

(a sirius story)

(It's not a runaway, but an escape)

Tears mix with the dirt from his previous fall. A gash opens on his left cheek and the dirt-and-tear mixture sting his wound, blood trickling down the side of his face.

He stumbles upon a tree root, covered in snow (and hidden from view), and promptly falls over again. Too sore to get up, he lies there for a while, teeth chattering violently – dirty, crying, and bleeding. Finally, when the cold becomes unbearable, he crawls on the snow-covered earth, toward the nearest house, hoping it is the right one.

(But luck simply hasn't been on his side this whole life)

The three-story brick house seems to emit a golden glow. Sirius smells wafts of a Christmas turkey in the oven and freshly-baked gingerbread. He gazes in wonder at the red, green, and yellow Christmas lights, in which the house is lavishly adorned in, it was rather like sitting in a star explosion (he thinks Prongs had decorated the house), and he hears the gentle plinking of a piano, people chattering and laughing. It sounds of love and laughter and praise.

(The laughter rings in his ears)

He is giving off nothing – not even a shadow les on the white ground. He smells of sweat and dirt and blood (worse than skunk, his dear mother would say). He teastes blood and tears, salty and bitter and repulsive. And the little bit of a sweet, tangy flavour is at the tip of his tongue – it tastes of hope and warmth. And he is sure he looks like a wreck, a sad heap of bones on the doorstep – his fine silk dressrobes torn to rags, his eyes sunken and fearful, and a smudged face – a combination of crimson, brown, and water, his lips clenched in pain and sorrow. He smells like deceit, lies, and pretense.

(How the contrast shows itself.)

He lifts a bruised fist to knock on the polished rosewood door, and groans at the excruciating effort.

The music stops, and footsteps come running. The door creaks upon, and he hears cries of "Oh my, Harold!" "**Jen** – who is it – what the -?" and his favourite – "Welcome home, mate."

And for the first time in his sixteen years, he smiles. It's a real one – not the one he uses to sneer at Snivellus, not the one he uses on professors and parents, nor is it the one he uses on attractive girls.

It's a real genuine smile.

(He is home.)

* * *

Merry Christmas, **Sharkie**:) 

Thank you, Cuba for beta-ing.

there's your smiley guy XD

and reviews would be very very nice -hinthintnudgenudge-


	6. never regret courage

never regret **courage**

(a neville story)

"Don't turn yourself in."

Harry nods curtly.

He watched Harry leave, turning a corner and disappearing from sight.

Harry Potter, who he once admired from below, in a frightened sort of way. Harry Potter, who, famed as he is, found him is courage and talked him to like an equal.

(Where is he off to, anyway?)

He tells naught of surrender or turning himself in, yet there is something – some sort of glimmer or flame – that has gone from his emerald-green eyes, like it… extinguished itself.

(It is the Gryffindor light.)

It suddenly dawns upon Neville.

(It's gone.)

But he had not recognised any sort of defeat in his eyes.

_Neville leaned toward the body, unsure of whom it might be. Greyback had twisted the face as he had done to many others – it was mangled, with blood, froth, and mud. The legs and arms of the person hung limp – it was broken and pointed at odd angles._

_All he could see was one beautiful gray eye beneath the mess of hair- glassy, blank._

"_Neville."_

_Harry's approach startles Neville, he jumps. "Blimey, Harry, you nearly gave me heart failure!" _

_He sees the serious look in Harry's face._

"_Where are you going, alone?" he asks suspiciously._

"_It's all part of the plan," replies Harry. "There's something I've got to do. Listen – Neville-"_

"_Harry! Harry, you're not thinking of handing yourself over?" Neville is suddenly scared – this is a matter between life and death – _

"_No," he replies. "'Course not… this is something else. But I might be out of sight for a while. You know Voldemort's snake, Neville? He's got a huge snake… calls it Nagini…" _

"_I've heard, yeah... What about it?"_

"_It's got to be killed, Neville."_

Looking back, he realises how easily he let Harry go…

(Why didn't he stop him?)

He doesn't know.

Xx

He sees the body, in midst of a puddle of Rubeus Hagrid's tears. It is more twisted, more bitter and warped then the last body, yet it is unblemished – as if he could merely be sleeping. There is only the scar that glows red on his face.

He hears cries of agony – from Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Minerva.

(Why didn't he stop him?)

The last he can do is fight until the end.

For Harry. For Fred. For Remus, Tonks, Colin, everyone. For his parents.

For himself.

(Mission complete.)

* * *

Merry Christmas, **Katy**:) 

This is written in a different style, with a past tense in between, so please tell me if I made any mistakes :O

Reviews are greatly appreciated.


	7. she wouldn't

she **wouldn't.**

(a tonksbella moment)

(all is lost for one by emerald)

Bellatrix chases after her, breathing profoundly and sending curse after curse – Crucios and Stupefys and Avada Kedavaras. Brilliant red-and-green lights fling themselves about the hall, and Tonks wildly thinks of Christmas… her son hasn't even been past his first yet…

A jet of emerald light shoots toward her, it is too close, too close, and then she stumbles, narrowly avoiding it as it goes whizzing past, hitting a suit of armour and deflecting back.

Bellatrix cackles behind her, and brandishes her wand, ready for more cursing.

Tonks suddenly turns around, defiant. She would run no longer.

(the moment freezes)

A scarlet beam, a definite Crucio, hangs in the heavy air between them, and a woman not so far away is screaming, screaming --

(why are you after me?)

Nymphadora searches her aunt's eyes, attempting to discover a glimmer of Andromeda, a hint of sympathy, mercy, or even pity – but could find none in those cold black eyes, so unfeeling, so dark, like little black opals.

(do you know me?)

The question dangles in the air, suspended by the silence between them. Neither are saying a word, yet there is some connection between their sober faces, their steely eyes.

(I'm your niece)

Yet the eyes stare warily at Tonks as if she was a stranger, as dark light suddenly shadows her face, and the moment breaks.

"You… are… no… niece… of… mine!" Bellatrix shrieks, "I don't have any nieces!" She looks murderous – her hair us flying up in strands, eyes shooting daggers, chin high up. She points her long, willowy wand straight at Tonks' unnaturally long nose. "CRUCIO!"

Yet Tonks makes no sound, no whimper as the red luminosity hits her, she merely collapses – her legs giving way, and she ends up sitting on the icy marble floor.

Bellatrix moves in for the final spell.

"You wouldn't," Tonks whispers, her eyes aglow with some sort of defiance.

Bella's lips curl into a small sneer. "Who says?"

The emerald glow illuminates Tonks' graying hair as she falls.

Bellatrix stares as the body goes limp, and leaves.

* * *

Merry Christmas,** Cuba**:)

Thank my sister for rereading this: or it would be like this:

Quote: You… are… niece… of… mine!" Bellatrix shrieks, "I don't have any nieces!"

hehe, yeah. Come on, I was tired!

so.. now it's time for you to click that purple button below and tell me what you think :)


	8. rosebud tea

Rose**bud **_Tea_

(a remus story of forgiveness)

It is Tuesday night, and he is in the kitchen drinking rose tea and reading the Daily Prophet.

Someone takes the seat across from him; he hears the chair being pushed away from the table. He glances up, startled. Sirius is sitting there, staring at his newspaper curiously. He looks away as soon as Remus looks over.

Two years.

It's been two years and a little part of Remus still blames Sirius. He cannot help it, and Sirius knows this as well. Two years, and they still look away from each other whenever nearby, afraid to meet each other's eyes, as if it would sting to do so.

(James wouldn't like how this was happening.)

He would want them to get over it, be happy. Both knew that, but neither would admit.

(Tonks wasn't taking this so easily either.)

"Honestly, you two," she had rolled her eyes, "Why don't you just get over it? It happened so long ago, and there was nothing either can do about it. It wasn't Sirius's fault that Peter was a –word censure- and would –word censure- tell on them."

Both had left the room without another word. Tonks gnashed her teeth.

(Even Arthur was getting uneasy about it.)

"Look," he had said nervously, wringing his hands and looking at the door every so often, "I'm really sorry about your loss –er, our losses, but shouldn't you two make up- er, stop holding Sirius responsible for it?" high-pitched titter "Look, I know you don't like me bossing you around like I did when you were at Hogwarts, but Moll-" he suddenly stops, and lets out another nervous laugh.

(Maybe it wasn't Arthur after all.)

Anyway, so they're all depressed and everything, and the place is as silent as a tomb. Molly and Kingsley try to make small talk, and Tonks is glaring daggers at both of them.

And there is this night, 11:04 PM on Tuesday – while Tonks is on duty, Kingsley on emergency call at the Ministry, and the Weasleys asleep. Hermione Granger, Harry Potter and Ron's friend, was to be arriving the next day at noon.

"Hello," Sirius greets curtly. He waits for Remus's reply, turning to the stove to pour himself a cup of tea.

After a long pause, and several more pages flipped, it comes. "Hello." Remus flips another page, and continues reading, as if nothing happened.

Sirius heaves a giant sigh. "Look, Moony – Remus cringes- I know what you think about me. You think I shouldn't have given the job to old Wormtail there. You think I was trying to get out of becoming Secret Keeper. You think I don't? You think I don't regret not becoming Prongs and Lily's Secret Keeper?" he is standing up, pounding his fist on the table. The teacup smashes onto the floor, breaking into a million tiny pieces.

The door creaks upon. It's Ron, half-asleep, looking for a glass of water.

Remus stands up and helps Ron retrieve water from the dusty tap, and Sirius flees – out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Remus goes to bed shortly after. He dumps the tea down the drain (the rosebud goes flailing round and round in the sink helplessly), and flings the book across the room.

(The rosebud falls down the long drain.)

xx

Remus sits at the foot of the bed, propping his legs across the Black-crested bedpost. He cannot sleep.

(He doesn't like the way things are between them)

He wonders what would've happened next if Ron hadn't come in.

(He feels a burning hatred for Ron for a moment, then it flits off and he is left contemplating again)

The voice echoes in his head.

"_You think I don't regret not becoming Prongs and Lily's Secret Keeper?"_

Of course he doesn't think that.

(or does he?)

"Stop it," he tells himself. "Sirius loves the Potters as much as I do."

(and how much is that?)

"A lot," he says firmly, and then he realises.

(He's wrong)

(It took you that long?)

"Yes, it did." Remus rolls his eyes, stands up, brushes himself off, and there is Sirius, standing silently at the doorway. Their eyes meet, and Remus knows it's okay.

Sirius holds out a mug.  
All is forgiven.

* * *

Merry Christmas,** Rabbi**:)

and thank my real-life friend for helping me through all the blocks :)

Review please.


	9. snow and magic

_snow _and **magic.**

(a tom riddle story)

It is snowing as Tom Riddle walks home.

(It couldn't be defined as home.)

The snow falls thick and fast, and the few passerbies are clutching their coats tightly as they amble past, like giant lumps of clothing – layers and layers, and yet, their teeth still chatter deafeningly.

(It's cold)

Yet Tom smirks at the passing people, his outwear was merely a threadbare sweater, so worn you could see the blue long-sleeve inside, yet not a quiver escaped his thin shoulders.

(Shivering is a sign of weakness, and weak is what he is not.)

He passes the closed post office, closed grocery store, closed laundry store. This is a lane of shops, and not one is open – the exception is at the end of the street, a bakery shop.

It is a small shop, with _Suzy's Bakery_ written in bold and colourful letters upon the giant glass window, perfect for looking in at all the scrumptious Christmas cookies and bread.

(The tastes have never appealed to Tom, like they have to all the other children)

Nevertheless, he is curious – why would it be open then? And he peers into the shop.

(He then wishes he has never wondered.)

There is a lady – **Suzy** he believes it is – who is handing a last rushed-looking customer a paper bag (full of cookies, he presumes). She is smiling, just like the other adults – Mrs. Cole at the orphanage, Mr. Gambon at school, and random bystanders who walk up to him, praising "such a sweet little boy." But there was something different about her smile… her eyes… something almost _magical…_

(What is magic?)

As he walks home, it echoes over and over again in his head, pounding in his ears.

(What is magic, what is magic, what is magic?)

A new voice comes into his head, sounding rather like a little bird chirping.  
(It's love)

He fails to hear the word, as the northern wind passes through at the very moment, whistling in his ears and slapping at his face, yet he doesn't flinch.

It stops snowing as Tom reaches the orphanage.

* * *

Merry Christmas, **Frayed**!:) 

Thanks to** Bonnie, Sharkie, and Cuba** for looking it over! XD

And please leave a review, it really makes one's day. XP


	10. golden silence

**Gold**_en _Silence

(a teddy lupin fic)

Teddy is five when he first learns of parents.

He sees Victoire calling Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur "Mum" and "Dad", notices how Uncle Bill, Uncle Charlie, Uncle Percy, Uncle George, Uncle Ron, and Aunt Ginny all call Great-Auntie Molly "Mum" and Great-Uncle Arthur "Dad'.

He wonders why he doesn't have anyone to call "Mum" and "Dad" to. He only has a "Grandmum."

His hair is yellow with curiosity.

Xx

When Teddy turns six, he figures out that almost everyone has parents. "Why don't I have a Mummy and Daddy?" he asks his grandmother, Andromeda, while she gardens. She stiffens slightly, drops her wand. Teddy waits patiently – his grandmother often had the same behaviour – like the time when he changed his hair to bubblegum pink or asked about werewolves. After a while, she answers. "They aren't here anymore." Andromeda then turns and flees, up the stairs and into her bedroom. A few hours later, she comes out and makes dinner, but all throughout the cooking and baking, she appears distracted.

They eat a burnt pot roast that night, but neither notice – Andromeda is absentmindedly toying with her spoon and fork, and Teddy's hair transforms to gray as he hears his grandmother's words repeat themselves again and again, "They aren't here anymore."

It is a silent dinner.

Xx

He goes for a walk after dinner, all the way over to Shell Cottage. Peering through the window, he sees Victoire with her parents, laughing and smiling. His hair turns a sickly green before he can help himself.

The next time Victoire comes to visit, he hides behind the couch.

Xx

Behind the couch, he wonders where his parents really are, and feels great resentment toward Andromeda – his hair flushing a deep, deep red.

Xx

He turns seven, days after Easter.

Curiosity and impulse take great hold of him, and he goes on the Knight Bus to find his godfather, Harry Potter.

Yet he doesn't quite want to see James with his parents, and he takes this in consideration, his hair changing to a different colour at each roll of the wheels.

Stan stares, awed, at the solemn boy.

Xx

He stands at the doorstep, closes his eyes as he rings the doorbell at No. 12, Grimmauld Place.

Kreacher opens the door with a bow, and ushers him upstairs into the nursery, where he watches Aunt Ginny coo over the cradle, with Uncle Harry by his side, hears baby James' first words "Ma! Da!"

Teddy takes off, down the stairs and out the door – Harry looks up sharply, and dashes after him.

Xx

Harry catches Teddy minutes after – the seven-year-old is bawling, running, tripping all over the pavement. Passerbies stare curiously at the two of them, Harry firmly holding onto Teddy's arm, while the boy is screaming and kicking, his hair turning purple and red and dark blue.

Xx

The first thing he notices is his mother's bright pink hair.

Although the picture is weathered from many folds and very, very old by the looks of it (was it really only eight years ago?) Tonks's hair remains perfectly in colour, the precise shade of bubblegum pink.

(Light dawns upon him.)

"So that's why Gran doesn't like pink!" he shouts, his hair quickly copying Tonks', and Harry smiles, watching him and tousling the spiky pink hair. Next, onto Remus John Lupin.

Teddy stares into the solemn honey eyes that mirrored his own in the weathered photograph in his hands...

And there is a silence.

(Harry can't help but think how beautiful and golden this one is)

* * *

Merry Christmas, **kmovie**:)

Thank you totallymindless (or Summer) for helping me through xD

Reviews are needed, like seriously :P


	11. for a perfect gift

For a _Perfect_** Gift**

(a siriusxsadie story)

"I want it to be perfect," Sirius whined.

"I know you do," Remus said, exasperated. "but –"

"Yeah, I know that feeling," James spoke up. "Like if I get it wrong, Lily ends up screaming bloody murder."

"Like the time you sent her a love letter that really contained a rubber rat, just to scare her?" Peter smiled at the memories.

"The letter would've come later if she didn't throw the rat away," James looked sheepish. "It sends itself to the rat!"

"Anyway, it was pretty loud," Peter smirked.

"Sadie won't do anything like that to me, will she?" Sirius looked worried, wringing his hands and watching Remus do the final adjustments to the red-and-gold present in the bare room.

"Of course she won't," Remus assured him.

"Yeah, of course not," James rolled his eyes. "A Muggle girlfriend of Sirius's who's never had any contact with magic before is not going to scream bloody murder at the sight of a Christmas gift exploding and decorating itself all over the room, without anyone helping, including a bunch of mistletoe that just happens to fit right on the ceiling above you."

"She's no ordinary Muggle!" Sirius exclaimed indignantly. "There's something different…"

Just then, Sadie walked in. "Hi, Remus, James, Worm." She nodded at them. ('Why'm I Worm?" Peter whispered) They returned the gesture.

"…about the, erm, turnips."

"Turnips?" Peter asked, confused. Sadie looked at him weird, then turned to Sirius. "So…"

"Oh, uhm, right," Sirius stuttered, tripping over the long ribbons of the present. James smirked just before Remus led him out along with Wormtail, only Sadie could make Sirius stammer like this.

"Here's your Christmas gift," Sirius, still stuttering, handed her the present with shaky fingers.

"Thanks," Sadie answered, carefully untying the golden ribbons.

A firework whizzed out of the red box, and exploded with a bang above them. Saide started, as the sparks began arranging themselves neatly – into emerald-green Christmas trees and azure snowflakes.

(It was a wonderland)

"Oh, and I forgot to tell you," Sirius said with an easy grin, as the mistletoe wove itself over his head, "I'm a wizard."

"I thought you might be," Sadie smiled, closing the distance between them.

(so this is the true meaning of Christmas)

* * *

Merry Christmas, **Sadie**:) 

Reviews make my day special.


	12. fulfilled

Fulfilled

(a tonksxremus story)

He would never hold her again.

Gawking, watching, **glaring **from inside the suit of armour at he-who-has-wrecked-her-world.

(Antonio Dolohov)

He would never look at her shyly, wistfully again, never gently hold her hands between his, never roll his eyes scathingly at her bubblegum pink hair.

(If only he didn't save her, he'd still be breathing, living…)

It is then she realises. Life isn't about who lived the longest, or the wealthiest (she had found out the latter a while ago, while falling for one Remus Lupin) or with power.

(It is about friendship, love, and happiness.)

Glancing back on her life now, she realises she has fulfilled everything she wants, everything she needs.

(Friends, service, happiness, **love.**)

She doesn't need anything else there, in her already-perfect life.

(Mum would take care of Teddy, would understand her daughter's desire.)

Shrieking, she departs her hiding place, directly toward where the Death Eaters were - running - slashing her wand toward Dolohov's way.

Then she hears the last words she will ever, uttered from between Aunt Bella's lips: "Avada Kedavra!"

(She sees Dolohov collapse onto the marble floor, and that gives her the utmost satisfaction before she herself tumbles and falls.)

_I'm going to see him again._

* * *

Happy New Year, koolgirl1993:)

(as it's not Christmas anymore.. -sniffsniff-)

Please review, it really helps me (:


	13. all's fair in love and war

**all's** fair in _love_ and _war_

(a katiexfred story)

"Katie?" Fred asks. "What do you think it'd be like to die?"

Katie eyes him cautiously, "This isn't one of your mind tricks again, is it?"

"No, I'm serious." Fred does look dead-solemn (even with the little piece of toilet paper Verity had stuck to his head this morning,) his eyes intent on the freckles framing Katie's eyes.

"Since when were you ever serious?" Katie teases playfully, then continues. "Well, I don't know. Why are you asking this?" she inquires, suddenly tense.

"I don't know," Fred replies dejectedly, "Days like this, when nothing comes up, I get down."

"We're not going to die during this war," Katie says determinedly, "Whatever happens, we are not going to die. You hear me?"

Something explodes from behind Katie's seat, and she screams.

Fred laughs until he cries. "There we go!"

Xx

She sees his last laugh, just before he drops to the ground, his eyes blank and never-seeing again, lips still wide apart, laughing and smiling and friendly-looking.

(but he is gone)

She sees the very hand that did it – the right of Augustus Rookwood, and feels a hot-hard burning anger, full of hatred and disgust.

And she knows what she is about to do.

(Her first, last, and only murder.)

After all, all's fair in love and war.

* * *

Happy January 13th, **Alica**:) 

(well, since it's a bit late for New Year's... hehe)

And thank you** Sharkie** for beta-ing xDD

Please leave a review, it really makes my day )


	14. steps to count

**steps** to _count_

(a nevillexginny story)

One step frontward.

One step back.

(Could he do this?)

He paused, and stared – her red hair shining despite the dark classroom, those warm brown eyes twinkling, twinkling as she threw her red mane back and laughed.

Probably because of some ridiculous joke one of her friends had said.

One step frontward.

He was really going to have to either ask now, or leave – the bell was going to ring in another few minutes, and she was gathering her things to leave.

One step back. Why is it so difficult? It's just one question… 

She was coming nearer to him… she exited the classroom….

"Ginny!" he shouted suddenly, and immediately covers his mouth, shocked. Not like this…

She turned (and he catches a whiff of her flowery perfume) and smiled at him - her friends giggled and ran off. "Yes?"

"Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?" Again, Neville's words seemed to spout out bluntly by themselves.

Ginny blushed, nodding. "I knew you'd ask."

"Really?"

"Yeah, ever since – I mean –" she stopped, looking at Neville meaningfully.

Yes. She knows about it too. Probably the whole school does. Neville flushes a deeper crimson.

There was an awkward moment, until Ginny managed a funny little wave and a "Well, I guess I'll see you there."

"I guess."

"Bye." Ginny ran after her friends, and Neville is left with a small smile pulling at his lips.

Two steps frontward.

* * *

Happy April Fools' Day, **Fragile-Strength**! ;P

I hoped you enjoyed it, even though it was more dialogue than floatiness ;)

And kindly review.


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